Dark Touch
by FightingKirbys
Summary: A story about Touch, a mutant with the abililty to possess other people along with other abilities, and his temporary turn towards evil.
1. Prologue

The X-Men aren't mine, so don't be surprised if you don't see Claremont - quality story lines  
  


* * *

  
Dysis sat in her lab, drumming her fingers against the side of her face, which held an uncomparable grimace. It was uncharacteristic of her to be in such a situation - outside of leading or acting or somehow being productive, the idea of straight out scheming was long lost on her. She found herself at a loss. Experiment after experiment was lacking success, and she knew why... she wasn't working with the right stock.  
  
"A mutant," she thought to herself. The experiments had always been on humans... she had seen them as lesser creatures all her life, as they acted merely as servants to her will. However, she could not isolate the genes to enhance a human's physical prowess as much as she needed for her purposes. A mutant though... studies on mutants have existed for many years, especially recently. Nearly the entire genome was broken down by one scientist or another. The alteration of a single gene would be simple of a genius of her magnitude.  
  
A simple heist. She wasn't fond of such... antics. In light of the way things have been going though, she didn't see much of an option. And short cuts were always nice, especially upon achieving something she deemed necessary.. Dysis stood up and paced across the lab, looking towards her servants as they watched TV and stuffed their faces. A grumble murmured deep in her throat. Yes... this was necessary.  
  


* * *

  
  
An older man looking to be in his late 50s walked into the room. Despite his age, he appeared to be in excellent shape, with well-formed arms sticking out of the sleeves of a sweeping black trenchcoat, and a solid jawline being one of the few accents on his face. The trenchcoat itself seemed to pull him towards the shadows, and those who saw him come in naturally drew their focus away from him, whether they wanted to be paying attention to him or not. He looked over to the door leading to the backroom and headed towards it, opening it to find a flight of stairs and followed them down.  
  
Touch found himself in the basement of a pub on Main Street. Though he was a heavyweight when it came to drinking, it was not on his agenda tonight. Bills were coming in and money was hard, and whenever that happened, he could always resort to Andrew Fontaine, one of the most personable and professional crime lords on the East Coast, and a fan of the work that Touch has done for him in the past.  
  
"Alright, here's the building," Fontaine pointed to the blue prints, spilling is coffee over the corner of gigantic piece of paper.  
  
"Having me break in through that brown murky lake," Touch murmured sarcastically, lifting the floor plan up and letting the coffee drip over the edge of it. "We don't need to get you a bib, do we Andy?"  
  
Fontaine smiled, but looked back down at the slightly soiled blue prints as Touch placed them back down and continued with his speech. "Here's the building. It's a really easy in-and-out job, and I don't expect too many problems with you on it. There's just two things."  
  
"Last time it was two things, it was 'defcon four security system' and 'live guards at every corner'," Touch mentioned with a hint of sarcasm. Fontaine was probably the only guy Touch said more than five words to in a sentence, but even with him, they came out cynically. Fontaine couldn't help smiling, though he knew that hint of sarcasm was just a hint, covered by a thick coat of professional standards in crime and a great amount of experience in his field.  
  
"Well, I won't play around than. Thing one is we've had these guys tapped for a few days now in preparation, and it seems like there's already been someone spotted scoping the place out, and it wasn't our guy... so keep your eye out. Thing two is not a sound... the place shouldn't be too bad to get into, but the guards are the best of the best, and that's where you'll lose it."  
  
"What's the grab?"  
  
"It's actually quite priceless, in essence. It happens to be from a ra-"  
  
"What's my grab?" Touch said shortly.  
  
"Oh... um, 10, standard." Fontaine replied. Touch stood, nodding in acceptance. "Just send recon info in a bit?"   
  
Fontaine got quiet and nodded silently, giving up the desire to be jovial. His comrade was strange at times... more often than not, a sense of humor would shine through after Fontaine joked around a bit, but it wasn't to be today. Fortunately, these moods were when Touch did some of his best work. He watched the older man walk away with his trench coat flowing behind him. He was definitely in his zone.  
  
As his "business partner" left, he grabbed a phone and dialed a few numbers, sending a few orders out to have the floor plans and a few timing notes sent out to Touch. Fontaine leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment... he'd done thousands of these jobs in his time, and yet... there was something about this one. He shruged it off as just nerves - that happened every so often - and got back to finishing up his other deals from the past week.  



	2. The Easiest Heist Ever

There are three things that I most assuredly don't own - the soul of Walt Disney, the blood of a unicorn, and the rights to the X-Men.  
  


* * *

  
He'd looked the plans over once and memorized them almost instantly. Fontaine had it spelt out really easily as usual, and there lacked a challenge of almost any kind. Money was tight though, so sometimes he had to take the best he could get. The objectives were minimal: get in without being noticed, grab the item, and get out without being noticed. Probably the only thing about the whole job that threw him off about the job was that he was only stealing a token from a museum display. It did not require an immense amount of thought upon the subject - Fontaine was contracted by men all over the city, and even in parts of the country or around the world if they deemed his particular methods necessary. Those that stole for their own private collections just seemed slightly... oddballish to him.   
  
Touch looked back at his target, a fairly well kept building admist a city of delapitated complexes. It was used primarily as a science researching facility, and the piece was supposedly there for testing and examination. Of course, that almost meant an easier security system than a museum, so the heist had to pretty much be made tonight. He stood on the ledge of an adjoining building, and sized up what he was in for. The plans were basic in that all the floors were uniformly designed, so any complications in design could be analyzed on one floor and be expected on the other seventeen. There was a ventilation system that was incredibly complex to navigate, as many of the tubes were used for venting poisonous gases from experiments, and was pretty useless to his cause. However, the security system was composed of mostly cameras located in the hallways. The radio interference they would have caused would have disrupted studies, so they were kept, for the most part, out of the major rooms in the facility. Essentially... it was a piece of cake.  
  
Backing up a few paces, Touch ran forward and sprung himself onto the roof the facility. He walked to door in the center of the rooftop and opened slowly, waiting for the button that acted as an alarm trigger to come into sight. He pulled out a roll of black electrical tape and slid it over the button first, to keep it pressed down, and than over the lock of the door, to keep it from possibly locking behind him.  
  
_Easy enough_ ran through his mind for a moment, but he knew better than to have his doubts. Certain areas of the building were not filled in on the plans, which meant anything from addition security measures to guards stations or any number of hurdles, and failing this mission was not an option for him - it never was. He went down three flights to get onto the floor he needed, and performed the same trick as before on the door he needed to access the main part of the floor, where the offices and laboratories were kept. It was an easy floor to recognize, as it was hired about by private parties, such as the museum, to do their research and testing on, and in turn, were adorned with certain aspects to seperate one office from another. He looked immediately above the door, where the sole camera on the floor was located, and pulled out an industrial sized magnet, placing it underneath. The movement of the camera stopped as the circuitry was fried by the magnetic fields pulsing through it. He looked down the hallway, and with absolutely no other security protocols stopping him, continued walking down it. "Tucker... Schneider... Olsen Chemical... McCoy... Blathski...," Touch murmured to himself as he passed by each door. He was silent as he approached the door labeled _Restoration and Analysis of M.E.T. Property_.  
  
"This is disgusting," Touch thought to himself as he entered the laboratory, wondering how this could be so easy. The room was in general disarray, but he spotted his quarry almost immediately - a bronze sword located within a glass case off towards the back of the room. He carefully navigated through the various items the museum must have been restoring at the time. He slipped on his leather gloves and picked the lock on the case in a few seconds, placing it on the table and removing the sword from its place. The entire lab was free of security features, and there was absolutely nothing keeping him in check. Letting out a sigh, Touch headed out the door and proceeded to walk down the hallway. He looked to the doors again, reading the name plates as he walked towards the door to make his exit. Suddenly, an explosion rocked one of the offices he was walking by and slammed the door clear off the hinges. The alarms in the building went crazy, and emergency lights started flashing.  
  
"What the hell..."  
  
He looked through the dust as it settled and saw four big men searching through one of the laboratories. It was smaller, but looked even moreso with the papers and files they had strewn about. One of them had the tower to a computer under his arm, and the others were simply opening up folders and throwing them down.  
  
"What the hell is going on here?" Touch said as he stepped into the room with the four men. Without looking, they each drew a hand gun and pointed it in his direction. He looked towards them and closed his eyes.  
  
One second.   
  
Another.  
  
A shot fired.  



	3. From the Shadows

  
No tengo los derechos de los hombres de equis (I don't have the right to the X-Men).  
  


* * *

  
The shot rang out and echoed through the office. Touch opened his eyes, and the computer tower dropped to the ground. The thug that had been holding it had his eyes wide open, and he fell to the ground... and it was not until he hit the ground was it clear to see where the bullet had passed into his head from his fellow gang member to the right, who was currently holding the gun where it had been when the shot was fired in the first place. The other two members of the gang looked towards the man with the gun in shock, but only for a moment before they pointed their guns at him and made the same shot towards him, penetrating his skull without a moments hesitation and watching his limp body drop to the ground.  
  
The two looked at each other, than drew their guns toward Touch. Or, where Touch was. They heard the shutting of the door to the stairs and bolted behind him in pursuit. As they reached the roof top, a hand snapped out and grabbed the hand gun away from one, using it to pistol whip the other. Despite how big the guy was, a steel handle slamming into his jaw shattered it and sent him flying down the stairs. However, the other thug had a hand free and connected it first with Touch's stomach, and than with his jaw, tossing him backwards. His head slammed into the edge of the roof top and the sword flew out of his hands, though the hit only made him dizzy enough to slow down for a moment before he rolled back onto his feet.. The thug was almost as fast though, and tossed a punch towards Touch, who grabbed onto his opponent's wrist, placed his foot into his stomach, and leaned back, throwing the man over his shoulder and off the roof.  
  
He turned his back to go get the sword as a wind swept behind him. He leaned down to pick up the sword when a blow slammed into his back and lay him flat onto the ground. Amazingly enough, the airborne enemy had found his way back onto the rooftop, and was currently sitting on Touch's back, attempting to rip his arms out of their sockets. Suddenly, the man's gripped relaxed, and he stepped off of Touch, then reached down and helped him up, even as going as far as helping him dust off of his coat. The man walked over and picked up the sword off the ground, handing it to Touch in a very cavalier manner, as if presenting him with his own finely crafted sword from a blacksmith. Touch walked towards the edge of the roof just as police sirens began to sound in the distance. He looked towards his "mental slave", who was temporarily just staring into space. Finding his way to a ladder, Touch looked off from the roof top at the city for a moment, wondering if his thoughts were some sort of premonition of the events that were going to happen. He thought to himself _  
  
this must have been a message...  
  
this must have been a sign...  
  
this mus-_ARGH!  
  
The previously-entranced thug tackled Touch, knocking him off the side of the building and just barely giving him a chance to grab onto a rung of the ladder for a second, just enough to slow their descent before they crashed onto the pavement of the alley on the side of the building. This fall hit him harder than any of the other blows, and Touch was nearly unconscious for a moment, but pulled himself back into consciousness. The thug stood above him holding the sword in his hand, and took off down the alley.  
  
Touch shook his head and took off, cussing underneath his breath. "I don't need this shit," he spit out as he sprinted after the sword. He slid around the corner and came to a stop. Nowhere in sight. He was about to turn around when a stifled scream coming from an alley across the street. He sprinted across the street, running into the alley.  
  
The punk stood there with the sword unsheathed and pressed up a girl's throat. "Son of a bitch, were did you find a girl at three in the morning?" Touch asked, clearly irritated. He stood there with the blade glistening in the street light, toying with him and refusing to say a word. They locked eyes and stood there for a few seconds, neither making a single movement. The sword started to waver for a moment, and dropped out of the thug's hand, clanging on the ground. Touch released his hold on him, and gave him a chance to run away, which he promptly took advantage of at a high enough speed where he did not notice a notebook falling out of his coat. After picking up the sword and placing it back into its holder, he went to check on the girl. She was curled up in the shadows, and he couldn't pick up anything about her but her eyes, which shone with a white and blue hue.  
  
"You alright?" Touch asked, extending a hand to help her. The white and blue hue of her eyes seemed to swirl, and the air around him became incredibly cold. A white smile appeared in the shadows, and a blast of cold slammed into his chest, pressing him into the wall across from where she was sitting and forming a block of ice around his chest, attaching him there. The girl stepped from the shadows, letting the street lights flow over her, revealing a twenty-something face that was untouched by flaws. Though she was beautiful, two features burned into Touch's memory. The first was a mark that appeared to be a rigidly etched numeral six underneath her left eye. The second feature which stuck out were her eyes, which seemed to have irises that were constantly flowing. The blue and white that they were before swirled into a predominantly white and blue color fading into the background. Almost as soon as this change in her eyes occured, a wind swept into the alley and lifted the notebook that had been dropped into her hands. The wind rushed even more intensely around her and swept away. Just as she faded out of sight, a flame sailed down and slammed into Touch, melting the ice block just enough where he could break out of it.  
  
He dropped to the ground, coughing from compression against his lungs and the shrinking of the air from the cold pressed agains this chest cavity. The sirens from the police cars approaching were enough motivation to get him moving though, and in one swift motion, Touch grabbed onto the sword and swung up into the fire escape, getting onto the roof top and heading back to the recon spot. The entire trip, only one question rung through his mind...  
  
_who was that...?_  
  



	4. Impressions in the Mind

  
_Hold the following disclaimer to a mirror : _  
.neM-X eht ot sthgir eht snwo ,I tno ,eeL natS  
  


* * *

  
"Beautiful work, Touch," Fontaine said as he admired the sword brought back to him, "but somehow, I can't help but ask... why is your coat burnt and covered in ice shavings?"   
  
"It has a lot to do with the reason I have this huge bump on my head and a possibly broken, but definitely bruised rib." was the response, spoken with nonchalance and an almost aloof feeling about him.   
  
At this, Touch took off his trenchcoat and shirt and grabbed the medical kit that was located in the far corner of the basement. He was covered in bruises, but all of his bones were in tact, and that meant he was ready to go back out and work... though, he was no longer available for hire.   
  
"I thought it was a trap when I was coming back here, but it was just a coincidence," Touch mentioned as he rubbed samba cream into each black and blue spot. "The grab was easy, and it went just like clock work. I took down the security, and it just felt like it was so easy. Then somehow, I was leaving... and there was another group of guys. They attacked me, I got rid of most of them... then I was attacked by someone else... wind... fire... ice..., and they just tossed me aside... that's it..."  
  
"It's not like you just to let something like that go without being... well... pissed," Fontaine mentioned as he continued to examine the sword, this time with a jewler's magnifier. "I wanted to be angry, but... I'm not. She got what she wanted, and I got what I wanted."   
  
Fontaine almost dropped the sword. "Woah woah wait a minute, you know better than to skip over a 'she' in a story just like that. How was that not the first thing you mentioned? What was she like? Does she have a sister? What happened back there?" Touch responded with a glance upward from his work, then back to taking care of his wounds. He didn't feel the need to tell about what had happened. There wasn't much of a point to it, seeing as it would have just been bragging about defeating the gang of derelicts, or attempting to put together an image of the mystery girl which he could not even put together for himself. a rigidly etched numeral six underneath her left eye... He could not shake the image from his mind, and yet he could not remember it clearly either. irises that were constantly flowing... The image would fade out, and he could remember the beauty that he had seen in her. He attempted to bring the image to clarity, but the beauty faded out, revealing only darkness... leaving only -   
  
"Touch! Are you listening to me?!" Fontaine yelled directly in his face. "I don't know what happened...," Touch said, his voice almost shaking. "I thought it was attraction, but only for a moment... it's more like... I don't know..."   
  
He did know though... he just could not tell Fontaine..   
  
it was fear...   
  


* * * 

  
  
Dysis sat there in her lab, all of her grunts out collecting materials. These thefts would be much more easy to pull off, as the coincidental "same time" theft was very uncommon. It was the night after she had encountered the theif in the alley way, posing to be a hostage to get one of her men out of danger. However, he had been in her thoughts the entire day since they had met.   
  
_His moves were quick and precise, his skill could not have been of any street thug_, she thought to herself. _I watched from far away as he planned all his moves three, four, five times ahead of pulling them off flawlessly. And his ability to control the others... they had the best psychic she could offer them, and he plowed them down in only moments..._   
  
Her eyes drifted to the notebook, and she flipped through it casually, as she had already analyzed it throughout the day. The notes were more than she could have ever hoped for. In addition to a complete map of the mutant genome, it included several recommendations as to places to make changes to reverse the powers. In combination with her own research in ribonucleic structures, she had the knowledge to boost his abilities to a whole new degree. There were even sketches for a containment unit to hold an experiment subject, and various other details that would have taken days to complete. The day was spent reading through the notes and comparing them with her own, advancing her research years into the future. She had the complete information capacity to accomplish her plans, and just needed the physical resources to make her creation.   
  
She smiled at the thought of this mutant... no... this super mutant... completely in her control. Her eyes took on a pinkish redish hue as she tapped into another one of her powers - the control of emotion. With that, in addition to his easily corruptable mind once the transformation begins, he would be in her hands. And just the first of her new followers. This would mark the day when the hunt began. Her prey would be the mystery man, and from there...   
  
The thought made her smile grow to the point of being a sneer, twisted and sadistical...   
  
She would have everything...   
  



	5. A Change in Winds

  
Time for a little haiku:  
  
_Much like in the case,  
of Logan's love for Jean Grey,  
the X-Men aren't mine._  
  


* * *

  
Touch popped a cigarrette into his mouth and walked down the street away from Fontaine's meeting place. He decided he could best try to forget about what happened by getting some sleep. He had a small apartment about fifteen blocks away from where he was, and decided to walk it - it was easier to have clear thoughts when he was walking than when he was taking the bus.  
  
He took the cigarrette out of his mouth before he even lit it and shoved it in his pocket. He had a strange smoking habit - lighting up once or twice a month. Always when he needed to think, and he usually caught himself before he actually started smoking it. He took another five steps, stopped, and took it out again, placing it between his lips.  
  
He could safely say that he needed it this time.  
  
Touch had thought about the evening long enough... it had been an entire day since it happened after all, and he had just dropped by Fontaine's place to pick up his ten grand, which would last him for food and rent for awhile. Next to the occassional game of pool and a night on the town when some of the guys thought he really needed it. Which he always did. But he never let them know it.  
  
He sparkled the flint of the lighter and drew it to the tip of the tobacco stick, and took in a deep breath. He never developed an addiction... but the methodical breathing was almost like a walking meditation. Few people could understand it, though he knew few who had the mental hold to reject addiction either. It was something that his ability gave him access to... certain things about his mind. He never really understood it... it was just kind of always there. The wisp of smoke drifted into the stale city air. Not really much place for it to go but up.  
  
Touch exhaled softly, blowing doughnut rings one inside another. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts drifted to the robbery once again. He could not help but be amazed by how easily he had been taken down... whether or not he was at the top of his game. The robbery itself, and the feelings he had been getting during it. Something was calling out from inside of him, telling him what was awaiting that night.  
  
A wave of smoke from the tip of the cigarrette blew into his face and caused him to cough. The wind had shifted south from... from...  
  
He looked from left to right. Buildings touching the clouds on either side of him. There was no wind. Or there shouldn't have been...  
  
Touch instinctively snapped his head to the left, missing a punch by so close, that he felt the breeze blow past his ear. As the arm drifted pass his neck, he grabbed it and twisted it behind his opponent, using his freehand to puck the cig from between his lips and press it into the guys neck.  
  
"ARRRRRRRRRRGHH!!!" the thug screamed, dropping to the ground in pain. Touch turned around and there were already three advancing on him. He instantly noticed they were smart enough not to be carrying weapons, as last time that lead to two casualties almost instantly. Or, he should say, their leader was smart enough not to equip them.  
  
The first was knocked down by a sweeping kick, while the second reached just in time for Touch to reach a crouching position and do a backflip, extending his foot and cordially inviting it to the thug's jaw, and still managed to land himself in a standing position. The final one hesitated for a moment, which caused him to smile. Unfortunately, he did not realize that the hesitation was a signal. Six more accomplices joined the last one remaining. _What the hell..._  
  
The one that had avoided his initial onslaught began ordering his back-up around, telling them to attack Touch all at the same time. In turn, Touch took off until he caught sight of a small grocery store, and despite being closed for the night, still had a broom leaning up against the door for the morning sweeping. In a single move, he jumped and landed on the base of the broom, snapping the bristled end clear off of it. He wrapped his leg around it and tossed it up, catching it so it ran the length of his arm and touched the ground in front of him.  
  
"Our boss just wants to talk to you," the man giving orders spoke. "We figured it'd be easier just to take you down and bring ya in, but if you want to cooperate, that'll make things even easier for everyone. The boss said you were a smart guy, and it's seven against one... whaddya say?"  
  
Touch had locked eyes with the leader the moment he began speaking. There was silence that filled the entire street of the city, probably for the first time in its existance. It lasted for ten seconds, though it was enough to cause prespiration to build on the foreheads of every lackey that was trying to stare down there "prey". Finally, Touch spoke.  
  
"Wow, you're all little bitches..."  
  
The men did not hesitate for even a moment to hear their orders. The twenty yards or so between Touch and the mob shrunk almost instantly as they rushed towards him. He planted the tip of the pole into the ground and pushed himself forward, planting his feet into the chest of the closest opponent. The suprising move dropped the guy flat on his back, giving Touch the chance to push off of him and swing the stick around, connecting it into the next guy's head and tearing him down in a single blow. Unfortunately these moves placed him in the middle of the gang, with five more furious gang members on top of him. One of them wrapped his arm around his neck and pulled him from the pile, barely giving Touch enough room to breathe. The furious scowls that they all had transformed into twisted smiles. The leader pulled himself away from the crowd and stepped towards Touch.  
  
"We were just supposed to bring you in... but I feel like we've made ourselves entitled to have a bit of fun with ya, don't you agree?" The thug spoke, cracking his knuckles. He drew his fist behind him, and with all the force he could find within himself...  
  
... he smashed his fist into the jaw of the guy holding Touch, feeling the bone shatter against his knuckle. The leader, who minutes ago was carefully deciding a strategy to attack this man, was now flailing wildly at the three remaining members of the gang. Two of them grabbed onto his arms and were yelling at him, completely losing sight of the fact that Touch had caused his sudden change of heart.  
  
He calmly bent down and picked up his pole, pointing it toward the one thug who was not unconscious, preoccupied, or insane, and calmly stated, "what the hell is going on here?"  
  
"I can answer that," a familiar voice stated. Though the voice was crisp and clear as if it was spoken directly into his ear, the figure was invisible. He knew who she was though, the voice that had plagued his thoughts since her first heard it, so powerful in his mind that he dropped his pole and just focused on the sound. The thugs had all stopped moving and stood there as if someone had just frozen them in time, even the one under Touch's control. They were conscious and thinking, but despite their street backgrounds and rugged exterior, this voice had an unbelievable power over them. He looked into the night, desperately searching for the source of the words, but it was the whitish-blue irises piercing through the darkness that found him first.   
  
"I need you," the voice sounded again. "And you're coming with me." Touch's reflexes came a second too late, as he looked to his left and saw the thug he had been questioning, swinging the pole Touch had dropped and connecting with his temple, shadowing his mind in darkness.  
  



	6. Dream a Little Dream of Me

  
And the image of Nightcrawler appeared in the sky and said unto the people, _"The rights of the X-Men shall never be in the hands of FightingKirbys; though he may be stunningly handsome, and possess a sexual prowess unknown to any mortal, he shall never compare to the stature and charisma that Stan Lee holds within his essence."_  
  
In other words, the X-Men aren't mine. And for those of you who want to say "well, the X-Men aren't in this!"... it takes place in the Uncanny X-Men universe, so BACK OFF... *cough cough*... and enjoy the story!  
  


* * *

  
Touch found himself walking in a pitch black hallway. There was no beginning or end to it, and yet he still felt compelled to continue walking. There was complete silence in the hallway, less the metallic pings his boots made on the ground as he walked forward. While it was impossible to see, there was still never a doubt as to when to walk forward, when to turn, when to navigate in any particular way. A hallway stretching for what felt like miles, then a corner, then another stretch of hallway, then another corner. It seemed to go on for miles, for days, for every stretch of distance possible... until he reached a door.  
  
Against the darkness, the white of it shown like a beacon. He reached for the handle, and pulled his hand away. Inside his mind, he knew that this was the only door in the hallway - in any of the hallways - and it was his only hope of escaping. He was just afraid of what he was escaping into...  
  


* * *

  
  
Touch moved towards consciousness, but his eyes refused to open.  
  
_Come on... please wake up..._  
  
He instead used his other senses to figure out where he was...  
  
_It's time for us to begin..._  
  
He ears registered the sounds of science... machines, yes... but moreso chemicals... and computers... but many chemicals...  
  
_You need to be awake..._  
  
His fingers felt a cold table underneath him... he could feel the metal bands around his wrist and ankles...  
  
_Just tells us your name..._  
  
His lips... nothing to taste... but they moved against his will...  
  
"I am Touch," he spoke, his throat feeling as desert-like as his mind was at the moment.   
  
"Very good Touch," a voice spoke. He finally recognized it as a voice, and not just a thought in his mind. "Now, open your eyes."  
  
"I... I can't...," he said, struggling to do as the voice requested. It was a request after all, not a command.. or was it? He did not know; could not know. He felt suddenly very trapped. "Who are you, where am I - what are you going to do with me?! Let me go!" his voice pleaded. His cool rarely dropped, and as of right now - it was nonexistant.  
  
"It has little relevance where you are. And though it is significant what is going to happen to you, you need not know it, and I do not believe in distributing unnecessary details. However, you should know who I am. I am the owner of this place, and I am something much beyond the average person. I am many things, almost all of which you could never possibly understand. I will assume you would like a name, however. You can call me Dysis."  
  
_Dysis..._ the name settled into his mind... it almost acted like the spark that ignited the memories of what had happened. Most importantly, it triggered the recognition of the voice.  
  
"You... you're the girl...," Touch spoke, his voice showing a slightly gathered strength.  
  
"Yes, I am 'the girl'... Dysis will do just fine though," she responded calmly. "Now, I need you to open your eyes Touch." He felt her fingers gently brush his temple, in some sign of comfort.  
  
"No... I can't... I won't!" All the natural control that was integrated into his mind gave way to human fear.  
  
"Please Touch... for me?" Her voice was sweet, too sweet... burning-into-his essence sweet. The fingers shifted to nails, scratching against his cheek.  
  
"I WON'T!" He screamed at her. Using every ounce of strength in his body, he pressed his mind into hers, in a desperate attempt to gain some control over the situation.  
  
He felt her thumb curl around his chin and her nails dig into his face, entering the flesh and drizzling blood down his skin. In the same movement, she pulled his head up and slammed it against the table. "YOU IGNORANT FOOL! YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME!?" Her voiced echoed everywhere in his mind, shattering any hold he may have had on her. His eyes slowly opened, whether it had been because of the force of the blow when his head hit the table, or just the sheer hold that her voice had over him. The room was insanely bright, but as his eyes adjusted, her face came into view. She seemed like such a young girl, and yet so old at the same time... as if inside, she had matured past where the caterpillar becomes the butterfly, into something else. Her eyes seemed to glow as he stared at them...  
  
No, it didn't seem... they did...  
  
"Remember me Touch... remember..."  
  



	7. Bait

  
_Sung to the refrain of 'I've Seen Fire and I've Seen Rain':_ I've seen Storm and I've seen Kurt. I've seen beserker rages that must have really hurt. I've seen Iceman reject Northstar as a "friend". But I still don't own the rights to the X-Men.   


* * *

  
2:00 PM Friday   
A bright, sunny, afternoon.  
  
Dysis strolls down the street with an envelope in hand, tosses it in the air, and allows a breeze to sweep it underneath the door of a bar.  
  
She smiled as an old couple went by, and continued on her way home.  
  


* * *

  
  
5:15 PM Friday  
  
"Yo Andy, ya got a letter!" the bartender yelled across the room.   
  
Fontaine looked over in the general direction, let out a sigh that he did not even have a chance to hang up his coat, and worked his way through the crowded bar. _Friday nights... everyone needs a drink on pay day..._ he half thought, half muttered to himself. He snatched the letter from the man behind the bar and worked his way to the basement door. As he jogged down the stairs, he looked at at the envelope. It was clearly addressed to him and the bar, but there was no return address. Had he not been so frazzled from a long day and a loud bar, he might have thought about it longer. He didn't.  
  
He hit the bottom of the flight of stairs and looked up at the guys. This area in the basement acted as a meeting room to discuss heists and the such, but on Friday nights, it was the hang out to keep away from the drunks who blew half their paychecks on cheap booze. There were only about seven of them down there tonight, as opposed to the usual ten or fifteen or so. Fontaine had long got past the strange sight of the most powerful criminals in the city sitting around, having drinks, and talking about their kids and the such. It kept things clean, they had found... made them a family, so there were not senseless competitions.  
  
Grabbing a letter opener, he slit the envelope and took out the piece of paper located within, tossing the envelope on the floor.  
  
"Pick up after ya self!" Ed yelled jokingly. He was the nicest out of all of them, and was always the one to break the tension, buy the drinks, or whatever he could to make the little "club" they had a better place.  
  
Fontaine smiled at Ed, and unfolded the paper, reading it at a murmur, just enough so someone listening could just about pick up what was being said.  
  
_Hello Mr. Fontaine,  
  
We felt it important to notify you that a person, who has only disclosed his name to us as Touch, has found himself in the utmost trouble at our facility. We have the most sincere plans of torturing him and getting out all of those little secrets that you and your club find to be so important. If this information, or his life (which I doubt) has any meaning to you, you would be wise to make an appearance at my abode. I'm sure a man of your stature could easily locate where I am, so I won't waste time in giving directions. We hope to be seeing you soon.  
  
Dysis_  
  
He stared at the letter for a moment, and was about to crumble it, when words printed in a small font on the other side of the paper caught his eye.  
  
_PS Mr. Fontaine - In case there is a lack of motivation for you going, or a surplus of faith in Touch, there is an explosive inside the envlope that is triggered when the seal is broken.  
  
Enjoy_  
  
Fontaine heard a buzz coming from somewhere in the room. He looked towards Ed, who was examining the envelope which seemed to be emitting the buzzing noise.  
  
There was not a second for reaction. The explosion ripped into Ed, overwheling his body in seconds, and slamming into the rest of the room.  
  
Fontaine pulled himself off the ground, standing admist a flood of smoke and dust, coughing up a lung. He took a step forward, then another, and still another, before his foot hit into something soft. He bent down and felt a suit, and moved his hands up until he felt the neck and tried to find a pulse. Before he could catch a pulse though, the smoke lifted. And he looked into Ed's eyes... because they were the only part of him that was recognizable.  
  
There was no pulse.  
  


* * *

  
  
7:30 PM Friday  
  
Fontaine stood in a building that he had only stepped into two times in his entire life. The first time was when he was no more than seventeen or eighteen years old, and was working as an assistant to his uncle, who had gotten him in the business. The second was when he was in his late 20s, and he was accepted as one of the youngest members of this "family" he had been a part of for years. It was a place for the family to share joy. It was a place for the family to sorrow.  
  
It was a place for the family to handle business.  
  
He looked into the sea of faces. Most of them he knew. Some he did not. There were easily three hundred people amassed in the crowd.  
  
"You all know why we are here. Some of you know better than others, for you knew Edward Lando. And any of you who knew him, loved him, because he was often the glue that held us together." Fontaine attempted to symbolize this, but the sling he had been restricted to made him wince as he moved his arm towards his other arm. "He was killed tonight by someone who has threatened the integrity of our entire organization. None of you has to participate in what we are going to do. But those who do, will avenge his death." These final words were spoken with tears in his eyes.  
  
The crowd, which was normally light hearted or strictly business, were all stunned at seeing this man who was usually joking or flirting on the verge of a breakdown. Had the death not moved them, his words would have.  
  
"We know where this threat is. We know who this threat is. We act tonight. Midnight. Meet here in four hours if you're in."  
  
He calmly stepped off the podium. He talked and shook hands with old friends, introduced himself to new ones, and left.  
  
He came back four hours later, and every person was there, armed with a batallion's worth of firearms. They would all have their revenge.  
  



	8. Touch of the Darkness

  
The X-Men aren't mine.  
  
I'm making this a real disclaimer, because it's very important to realize that there is going to be an incredibly amazing amount of violence in the following chapter, and this story is about to earn it's rating. So... um... just be prepared. *hides behind really really thick bullet proof glass wall*.   


* * *

  
Dysis stood at the entrance to her stronghold. It was a monster of a room, cold steel that was as vast as it was empty. There was a door, approximately twenty feet tall, ten feet wide, and at least two and a half feet thick, also steel. The room was nearly impenetrable. Should it be entered, there were walls in the ground about one hundred feet from the entrance, just big enough to cover a knelt man, with a slit for looking and pointing a gun. Located behind each of these fifty walls were two men, mostly recently acquired souls she drained of any sort of willpower to use in her "test run", and all armed to the teeth. She sat at the very back of the room, approximately three hundred feet from the entrance, and thirty feet above the ground. She was located behind a seemingly timid, but nearly indestructable transparent wall of her own destruction, which protected her as well as a control panel and several monitors.  
  
The first monitor, activated by a motion detector, flicked into view. About thirty stylish cars drove up to her gate. Five men stepped out of the first car and walked towards her entrance. One of the men stepped forward, pressing a button on an intercom. Before he could even say anything, the door to the stronghold opened to him. None of the five men had a chance to move before behind mowed down by gunfire. The remaining cars sped into the room, weaving in as far as they could reach before swinging the doors open and using them as their own barriers. Automatic machine gun fire reached Dysis' men before they even saw their opponents and richoceted off each barrier. It was only moments before the air was littered with bullets, slamming into both sides heavily, but clearly not on the hometeam's advantage. The brainwashed drones had little experience with handling weaponry, and though they fought adamently, simply could not compare to the raw experience and skill of some of the men that they were trading shots with. Fontaine had been in the middle of the battle, pulling off shots with the eyes of an hawk, never missing a fatal shot. It was only after his second reload that he noticed the woman sitting in the back of the room. He noticed that despite the fact that her forces were dying in front of her eyes, she had a smile on her face that nothing seemed to be able to diminish.  
  
Fontaine's men simply swarmed over the last ten or so 'zealots', disarming them and tossing them into the center of the group.  
  
Fontaine stepped forward boldly. He had removed his sling to attempt to be more forceful in his actions, and in an effort to strengthen his image, focused the pain to allow himself to sound even more angry than he could ever indicate. "You are Dysis, aren't you?" his voiced commanded to her.  
  
Without faltering for a moment, she pulled a microphone to her lips. "You are an intuitive one, aren't you? Yes, yes I am Dysis. I assume you got my 'message', judging by the overwhelming positive response." She said these last few words with and even bigger smile on her lips. "I can also assume by that little indignant tone you've taken with me that you have something against what I did, or some other moral issue you want me to become enlightened on." Her chair rotated and placed her so her hand was just above a switch. "You might want to save the speech for a little while - I haven't even begun to test your morals yet." Fingers danced over the button for a moment, then slowly slid it down. A fairly large capsule, about seven feet long and three feet in diameter lowered from the cieling. It was translucent, but the image inside was recognizable only as a dark haze.   
  
The ten men who had been disarmed stood up. Hypnotically, they stood in two lines of five each and walked towards the capsule. Knowingly working the controls, one pressed several buttons on a keypad and smoke hissed from the capsule. Each took a place and assisted in lifting the cover off the capsule, rotating it vertically at the same time. A figure removed itself from the capsule and stood, allowing the smoke to disipate from around his body.  
  
Fontaine mouthed the word _Touch_, taking a step forward as if it was something only he could see. Touch focused his gaze on Fontaine, coldly and with almost no recognition. His eyes were vacant and empty holes, with a shimmer of brown in each barely visible. His physical form looked the same, with the exception of his eyes, and yet every person in the room took a step back when he took a step forward.  
  
The sound of one gun cocked. Then five, and soon every gun had a bullet chambered and safetys were off. Hundreds of guns pointed at Touch. Fontaine nervously held his own gun at his former friend, and yelled above the crowd. "If he moves... shoot him."  
  
Without hesitation, Touch ran at them, only to be greeted by every single gun going off, letting loose every single round and magazine that was loaded. As the smoke settled and the clanging from the bullets hitting the ground died down, Touch was standing just inches from the barrels of the guns from the front of the pack, completely unscathed.  
  
His hand touched the gun in front of his face, and gently lowered it to the man's side with absolutely no resistance. "You don't need to be afraid of me," Touch said calmly, with the brown specks in his eyes glowing slightly. "You need to be afraid of him." The two looked to the man's left simultaneously, and where there had been his brother, the man only saw a hideous, gangly, insect-like monster pointing a gun at him. The man with the gun pointed at him already had his gun drawn, as a similar monster had just drawn a weapon on him. Fontaine watched without understanding as the two men who had known each other their entire lives were threatening each other with death. He backed away from the scene, and as if his removal from the center was a trigger, the men around him, his _family_, were turning their guns against each other screaming. Fontaine ran backwards, as the images of the insects blurred with his images of the humans he knew and cared about.  
  
_Illusions_, he thought. _Touch was doing this to them..._. He turned away from Touch and flat out ran to the door, hearing the curses and threats from men he'd worked beside, laughed with and helped out. He reached the back wall and pressed himself against it, the image of his bretheren as these monsters fading in and out of his mind. Touch took a few steps back and raised his hand to the first man he had spoken to, who released a bullet from his gun into the chest of his brother. Just as the body hit the ground, he lifted the illusion so the man could see his brother drop to the ground, just before another man loaded a bullet into his head. The first shot had set off a chain reaction, launching bullets only feet away from each other for nearly instant kills. The sounds of the bullets were only muted slightly by the screams of horror that were let out when the mask Touch had placed on them was pulled away for a moment to see the horrible act they had committed, seconds before their own lives were ripped away from them. The barrage of bullets became so intense that there was not even time for the fear of the illusions to be pulled away before death took each man away. It was less than a minute before only three souls were left tied to the mortal coil - Fontaine, Touch, and Dysis.  
  
Needless to say, the latter of this trio was thrilled to see how perfectly her experiment had gone. The alteration of his body to act as almost a giant antenna for his powers altered everything about him, even down to putting him into a submissive state of control. She had commanded him to kill them all... and judging by his calm, unassuming gait towards Fontaine, he was just about to finish his mission.  
  
As Touch approached him, Fontaine saw his trench coat split behind him, forming gigantic demonic wings that nearly spanned the room. The specks for brown which dotted his eyes grew and solidified, forming large pools of copper, the first of the changes which molested his face into a zombie-like state of its former self. His hands mutated, melting his fingers together to form three solid bony claws. Similar demonic changes occured all over his body until he resembled some sort of... angel of death.  
  
He stood a few feet away from Fontaine now, who was locked in place with nowhere to go. This associate of his -- this friend -- had become a horribly mutated creature before his eyes. Though his legs were like stone, his entire body shook. Touch's hand snapped out and wrapped around his neck. The pain was unbelievable, and pulsed throughout his entire body. He knew that the image was just an illusion, but he could feel the bony claws, and his breathing was so strained he could barely maintain consciousness, let alone say anything to disuade the killing machine.  
  
The struggle to keep his eyes open was proving to be a losing battle, until he locked them on the copper-like surface of Touch's. The illusion was so powerful, he could even see his own reflection, and a slight sparkle in his own eyes. _He must be in my mind if he's doing this_ Fontaine realized. He began running thoughts in his head of job's they pulled together, drinks they've shared, jokes they've told... anything he could pull out. The more he thought, the weaker Touch's grip became.  
  
_A...An... Andy..._ Touch sputtered into Fontaine's mind. The wings seemed to bleed together, running into the form of a trenchcoat. The bones crushing his throat seperated into fingers merely touching the throat. His body finally shifted back towards it's normal form, but the last thing to change were his eyes. They went back to the vacant holes holding a shimmer of brown, but the brown glowed more intensely than before.  
  
A wind swept behind him, and Dysis almost appeared behind his shoulder. "What do you think you're doing?" she questioned, her voice manipulative and her eyes glowing yellow and pink, coursing her control of emotion throughout his entire body, bending him to her will. He turned to face her, the brown in his eyes glowing with an even greater intensity than before. He tried to reject her influence, but his body had been altered, her presence almost welcome within him. "Don't you see?" she spoke with the authority of one having complete control over another life. "You were made to suit my wishes... your body is forever under my command, and it has changed you down to your core. To put it in a crude way.... _I own your ass_." It was at this moment she realized that she had been talking to Touch... but the shimmer had completely left his eyes.  
  
Her eyes locked onto Fontaine's. She caught the sparkle of brown in his eyes. He cleared his throat.  
  
"Boo."   
  
His foot connected into her jaw and sent her flying backwards, though she caught herself with gust of wind. As she lowered herself to the ground, she threw a fireball in Fontaine/Touch's direction, which he adeptly rolled out of the way of, pulling the trench coat off of the now lifeless body of Touch's old body and taking off out the door. Dysis flew into the air and rushed out after them. She combed the mountains, searching for any sign of them but finding nothing.  
  
"WHERE ARE YOU TOUCH!?" her voice boomed through the mountain range. The wind that wrapped around her body spread with a hurricane-like force, slamming into the landscape with a fury unseen by any normal weather pattern. Despite the roar of the air whipping around her, her eyes still picked up a figure among the branches that had been stripped of their leaves by the force of her winds. Her eyes turned into a bluish white, and she slowly froze his body, until everything below his waist was nothing but an ice sculpture.  
  
Dysis landed on the ground next to Fontaine's figure, rolling it onto it's back. The body, though badly damaged, was still alive, with it's eyelids closed tightly. Her fingers spread the lids apart and she stared into his blue eyes, lacking any sort of shimmer. Her ferocity grew to an uncontrollable level. She grabbed his face and closed her eyes, feeling the cold travel from her finger tips into his body, literally chilling him into the core of his body. Fontaine could not scream, because the cold entering his body had decimated his lungs. He could not try to shake away, because the cold froze his brainstem within seconds of having her touch him. He could not do anything, for she had frozen his entire body. Her eyes snapped open suddenly, burning red and orange, and she slammed heat into his body, almost instantly destroying his body where it lay in a more painful manner than even she could imagine.  
  
"If you are around Touch, I know you must have felt that too," she spoke into the woods. "Consider that my promise to you. No one has ever escaped me. Your victory is temporary. Don't be as cocky as to consider yourself the first _just yet_." A wind picked up around her and swept her back towards her stronghold.  
  


* * *

  
  
Five hours later, a hermit left his cabin. Walking around a lake, hee came across the ruins that were the body of Fontaine and knelt next to them for a few moments. Carefully removing the trench coat from the ashed ruins of the man, he placed the coat on himself and walked away. As he returned back around the lake, he caught his reflection in the calm waters of the lake. Barely being dawn, the reflection was mostly a shadow, minus the copper glimmer bouncing off the cool water towards the head of the figure.  
  



End file.
